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Harps
The hospital equipment beeped as the young Chaplain recited the ancient ritual. "God, the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of his Son has reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins; through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. "Through the holy mysteries of our redemption, may almighty God release you from all punishments in this life and in the life to come. "May he open to you the gates of paradise and welcome you to everlasting joy." Cardinal Walsh managed to gurgle "Amen" through the oxygen mask. After the countless times he had given the Last Rites, this time he was the one receiving it. His end was near. The physical world around him was slipping away. "You know this far better than I," the Chaplain said. "The Sacrament of Penance and Reconciliation is one of the seven sacraments of the Church. A priest only acts in the person of Christ. Our Lord ultimately judges us at our death as only He can see our heart and soul objectively. Now is the time to confess those sins you swore you would take to the grave." He shook his head. The priest stared at him. Then with a burst of speed, he folded away his stole and went to his next assignment. That whelp was fishing, Cardinal Walsh thought. He thought the chaplain was arrogant. It was as if he expected some sudden revelation. Walsh knew that all his misdeeds had been confessed already, and there was nothing left to add. Besides, he still had his pride. Any chance to change his mind slipped away when his nurse pressed the "Morphine" button by his bed. Unconsciousness overcame him. The next thing he knew, he was racing through a square obsidian tunnel. Ahead was what looked like an inverted starfield, with a bright background and dark stars. The polished black walls of the tunnel reflected this light. Next, he found himself standing in a long line, still wearing his hospital gown. The world was bright. Everything was somehow more intense and vivid than anything he had ever seen. People of every appearance stood in queues that stretched from horizon to horizon. Behind him, an Asian woman shouted questions at him in a language he didn't recognize. The man in front of him talked to a little girl from Africa in Hindi. As he neared the head of the line, all he saw were people standing and directing traffic. A quick direction to go to the left or to the right. No pearly gates, no angels with wings and no sign of Saint Peter. Rather anticlimactic, he thought. They weren't even professionally dressed. The man in charge of his line wore white overalls and a T-shirt over a pronounced belly. He looked like he would be more at home fishing. A confused woman was talking with him in Russian. Walsh stepped past the people in front of him and went to the head of the line. "Excuse me. Am I in the right place?" The man studied the gold tablet in his hand and froze. His mouth slowly opened as his eyes grew wide and then narrowed. "Cardinal Thomas Walsh," he said with a pronounced Southern drawl. Behind them, a woman who was little bigger than a child was kneeling by a little boy and talking to him. She walked over and pushed the man in overalls aside, flashing a smile. "This way, Cardinal Walsh. My name is Maryam. It will be my pleasure to escort you to your eternal reward." She was dark and wore a cloak that covered her hair over a simple white tunic. Her tiny hand tugged on his and led him away from the crowd. The man had to be Southern Baptist, and she looked like an Arab. God must let non-Catholics into heaven to perform menial tasks. "Thank you," he said, following, "I was getting concerned. There were some very unsavory looking people in that line." He was surprised one little servant was all the reception that a Prince of the Church got. He had expected a procession. "This is Central Receiving," Maryam said. "Everyone starts off here, no matter their station in life. Your works have earned you special treatment before God." She led him through an archway. On the other side was a series of small changing booths. Maryam stopped at one and pointed. "Change your clothes here." He stepped in, anxious to get out of the undignified hospital gown. Clothes far grander than anything he had ever imagined appeared before him. Every piece was incredible. Spun gold footed leggings and a diamond-studded gold cassock. Most exquisite of all was triple crown tiara of gold and diamonds. It made the Napoleon Tiara in St. Peter's Basilica look like costume jewelry. He put them on, and they fit perfectly. This was far more befitting his position. When he stepped out of the booth, Maryam pointed to a golden pedestal. "Stand here," she said. After inspecting him, she handed him a harp. "God has judged you worthy to join a distinct group. The power of your harp will testify that every judgment of God and the Lamb is just." The pedestal rose up and flew to a beautiful temple that shined like a pearl. He sailed through the grand doorway. The walls glowed with the silvery light of the moon. When he saw a glorious throne, he knew who would be sitting there. He was to become one of the 144,000 written about in the Book of Revelations. This was a proper honor for his position in life. What could be grander than proclaiming God's word by playing the sacred harp of High King Brian Boru? As he flew around this marvelous building, he recited from Chapter 14 of the Book of Revelations. "Then I looked, and there was the Lamb, standing on Mount Zion! And with him were one hundred forty-four thousand who had his name and his Father's name written on their foreheads. "And I heard a voice from heaven like the sound of many waters and like the sound of loud thunder; the voice I heard was like the sound of harpists playing on their harps, and they sing a new song before the throne and before the four living creatures and before the elders. No one could learn that song except the one hundred forty-four thousand who have been redeemed from the earth. "It is these who have not defiled themselves with women, for they are virgins; these follow the Lamb wherever he goes. They have been redeemed from humankind as first fruits for God and the Lamb, and in their mouth no lie was found; they are blameless." If lung cancer had not unfairly taken his life at such a young age, he would have become the next Pope. Francis couldn't live forever, and Walsh had already begun securing the necessary alliance. The keys of the kingdom would have been his. He had earned this honor. The pedestal took him to an open spot. He wondered what was going to happen next. His right arm answered that question. It plucked a single note on his harp in unison with a sea of others. The roar was like cannon fire. The vibration rattled his entire body. He was assaulted by a sudden flash that was as bright and hot as an atomic bomb. His eyes were seared, and his skin was flayed off by the shockwave. The heat of the nuclear explosion made his golden garments glow red. His genitals burned in searing agony. If he were alive, the nerves in his body would be burned away. Here in Heaven, he felt the torment all over again. Wet with sweat and still in pain and shock, he found himself plucking the harp again. The sheer violence of the sound shook every bone he had. Foul-smelling pus ran out of his ears and onto his face. His teeth chattered. Retching and nausea overcame him, but there was no end to his dry heaves. Thirst soon consumed him, but he had no way to quench it. When he tried to throw the harp away, he found that it was welded to his arms. As hard as he struggled, he couldn't get rid of it. When he tried to leave, he found that the feet of his golden leggings were now part of the pedestal. They gripped him tightly. The pressure made the pain in his two plums turn from excruciating to beyond imagining. He tried to remove the triple crown, but it constricted about his head with unendurable force. Any one of these torments caused far more pain than anything cancer had done to him. These struck all at once and grew worse by the moment. Despite the agony, his hand kept plucking the harp in time with the sea of others. If he were alive, he would have passed out from the pain. Here, his suffering was without end. The Mother of God smiled as she watched her son's judgment of Cardinal Thomas Walsh on her tablet. After centuries of listening to the pleas of other mothers, there were sins for which she had no sympathy. She smiled and repeated a verse from the Gospel of Luke. "It would be better for him if a millstone were hung around his neck and he were thrown into the sea, than that he would cause one of these little ones to stumble." Walsh knew right from wrong better than night from day. There would be no forgiveness for destroying the innocence and faith of children. Category:DrBobSmith Category:Gods